


Snowflakes

by LadySokolov



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sickfic, Snowball Fight, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySokolov/pseuds/LadySokolov
Summary: “Oh gosh. Is that… is that snow?”Bruce and John, snowball fights, chicken soup and warm blankets.





	Snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr asked for:
> 
> John and Bruce are a thing and he lives with Bruce in the manor. But it's the middle of winter and John goes to mess around in the snow in the gardens in his cute sweater he made (one for Bruce too.) And he gets sick the next day. Blankets, soup, feverish sweaty John and worried Bruce.

SNOWFLAKES

“Oh gosh. Is that… is that snow?”

John stood at one of the manor’s windows, hands and face pressed to the cold glass, his eyes wide with excitement.

It hadn’t occurred to Bruce until that exact moment that John had probably never seen snow, or at least not up close. While snow in Gotham was a regular enough sight during winter, Arkham Asylum didn’t exactly have much in the way of a garden, and John’s cell hadn’t exactly had a good view of the world outside.

Bruce sidled up behind John, wrapped his arms around his partner’s stomach and pulled him close, resting his chin on the other man’s shoulder.

“Sure is,” he said, watching the snow drift slowly down from the sky.

* * *

Gotham’s weather experts had been predicting snow for a while, and Bruce  _had_ been dreading it until that moment. Snow made going out as Batman miserable; but standing there, taking in the delight and fascination on John’s face as he watched individual flakes begin to clump together and form little piles all over Bruce’s back yard, he found himself grateful for the snow in a way that he never thought he would. Anything that could make John this happy had to be worth at least a little inconvenience later on.

John placed his hands on top of Bruce’s own, keeping Bruce’s arms in place, and Bruce leaned in to place a soft kiss to John’s neck. They stayed there for a moment like that, simply enjoying the feeling of being pressed up against each other and watching the snow fall.

“We are absolutely going out there to play in it Bruce!” John suddenly exclaimed, pulling back from the embrace to beam up at Bruce, his hands reaching out to grab Bruce’s own.

Bruce couldn’t say no even if he wanted to, not when John was looking up at him with such pure excitement and joy on his face.

“All right,” Bruce said, which was enough to earn him a kiss on the cheek from his partner, before John went running off to one of the other rooms.

“Just make sure you put on something warm!” Bruce called out after him. 

* * *

The snow was laying thick on the ground, and John was already out and playing in it by the time Bruce caught up with him. He found John laying on the ground in the middle of the garden, slowly moving his hands up and down.

Bruce came to a stop by John’s head, and stared down at the other man’s now upside-down face. John stared back up at him; eyes and mouth going wide for a moment, before his face switched to a genuine smile and he began to giggle.

“It’s a snow angel,” he explained.

“I can see that,” Bruce said, smiling softly down at the other man. ‘Angel’ was right.

John looked so beautiful laying there, bits of snow stuck in his green hair and a wide grin on his face. Bruce wished that he could make John this happy all the time.

At least John had listened to his advice about warm clothing enough to throw on his purple and black Batman sweater. Knitting was a hobby that John had picked up once he had moved into the manor with Bruce. The Batman sweater that he had made for himself, featuring black bats on a purple background, had been a favorite, and John wore it nearly every chance that he got. Bruce smiled, and glanced down at his own choice of winter clothing; his current sweater being the partner to John’s own, although Bruce’s was black with blue bats; a treasured gift from John that always made Bruce feel much warmer and more comfortable than could be explained by the woolen sweater alone.

They stayed there for a moment, just looking into one another’s eyes as the snow fell softly all around them. Then, all of a sudden John’s grin changed, his brows furrowing mischievously.

Bruce had been so busy staring at the other man that he hadn’t noticed the snowball John had been gathering together at his side until it was too late. The snowball hit Bruce right in the middle of the face.

John let out a cackle before scurrying away in the direction of the nearby trees, gathering up more snow as he went and leaving Bruce to wipe the last few bits of snow from his face.

“Oh, you’re going to get it now,” Bruce said, already leaning down to gather a snowball of his own.

Bruce caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eyes. It wasn’t much, just a shadow fleeing between two trees. John’s training was serving him well, but eventually the crack of a stick breaking beneath one of his feet was enough to give him away.

Bruce spotted a shadow that had to be John, hiding behind one of the trees, and lined up an attack, only to find himself suddenly dealing with another face full of snow. The snowball fell from Bruce’s fingers, and John ran through the trees once more, cackling madly as he went.

Bruce grinned, knelt down to grab more ammunition, and headed into the trees after John. 

* * *

They spent more time stalking one another through the manor’s woods than they probably should have. Bruce told himself that it counted as training. John had insisted that Bruce needed to take some time off every so often and have some fun; not  _everything_  needed to be related either to his crusade or to maintaining his many masks, but Bruce hadn’t quite gotten used to the idea of doing things just because they were enjoyable.

After John’s first couple of surprise attacks, Bruce gave as good as he got. They stayed close to Wayne Manor, both of them darting out from the cover of the woods every so often to grab more fresh, powdery snow to use as ammunition before darting back into the shadows.

Bruce ended up with one snowball shoved down the back of his sweater after John managed to sneak up on Bruce and leap on his back. Bruce didn’t bother about shaking the snow out, instead immediately turning around and leaping on John, sending them both falling to the ground.

John continued to cackle, even as Bruce shoved a handful of snow onto the top of his head. John wriggled beneath Bruce and batted at him playfully, at least until Bruce grabbed hold of both of John’s hands and pinned them to the snowy ground on either side of John’s head.

That made both of them stop their play fighting. John’s laughter died down slowly, leaving just the soft sound of their breathing and the distant sounds of the city.

Bruce stared down into John’s eyes. John stared back for a moment, and then their eyes were both closing as Bruce leaned down and John arched up, their lips meeting somewhere between them in a kiss that was immediately deep and passionate. Bruce’s hands soon let go of John’s own, and John reached up around Bruce’s shoulders, pulling him down to continue the kiss.

Bruce had no idea how much time had passed when the two of them finally pulled apart, but he had a feeling it had probably been too long. John had been lying in the cold snow for the entirety of the kiss, and Bruce immediately felt guilty at the thought that he had allowed his partner to be so uncomfortable for so long, and that Bruce hadn’t insisted that they move inside.

John tried to arch up and reconnect their lips, but Bruce stopped him.

“Aren’t you freezing?” he asked John.

John responded with a wide, devilish grin and made another attempt to pull Bruce back down.

“You’re keeping me very, very warm,” he said, wriggling suggestively beneath Bruce.

God, Bruce was so tempted to just lean back down and start ravishing John again, but he resisted the urge. Instead he got to his feet, ignoring the stupid, hormone-ridden part of his brain that protested, and leaned down to offer John a hand.

“Come on,” Bruce said as he helped John up off the ground. “It’s time to go inside. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Aw, come on Bruce,” John said. “It’s going to take a lot more than a bit of snow to get to me. You should know that by now.” 

* * *

When John woke up the next morning the very first thing he did was sneeze. The room began to spin around him as soon as he opened his eyes. With only a little bit of struggling and wondering which way was actually up, he managed to sit up in bed, but after that it only took one deep breath before a coughing fit had him doubling over.

He wasn’t surprised. Not really. After all, he and Bruce  _had_  stayed out in the snow for quite a while the day before, and John knew that his immune system wasn’t exactly the best; not after spending so much time locked away in Arkham. He knew that he had been stupid. He should have listened to Bruce and perhaps then he wouldn’t have ended up sick. Bruce always did seem to know best after all. Now he was probably going to be stuck in the Manor for who knew how long.

He and Bruce had gone out on patrol as usual the previous night. It was around midnight, when the snow had started to fall again, that John had first started to feel sick. Bruce had told John that he should probably head back home where it was safe and warm, but John had insisted that he was going to stick with Batman until they had solved their current case.

A couple of hours later John had been a sneezing and shivering mess, and the drug cartel that Batman and Joker had been tracking had managed to scurry away when their position was given away by a sudden sneeze that had been too sudden for John to suppress.

Bruce had insisted that they both return to the Batcave after that. For a while John had been worried that Bruce would be angry that John had let their quarry escape, but when they made it back to the Batcave, the only thing that Bruce had seemed to be worried about was John’s health, pressing one hand to John’s forehead as soon as he had taken his gloves off and frowning when he felt how much of a fever John had developed.

“You should get some rest,” Bruce had said, pulling John close and pressing a kiss to John’s forehead, right where Bruce’s hand had rested a few seconds earlier. “Maybe we’ll be able to kick this thing before it gets any worse.”

Clearly that plan hadn’t worked.

It had been worth it in a way though; worth the stuffed up nose and throat and the fact that his body couldn’t seem to decide whether it was too hot or too cold. John cherished every single moment that he got to share with Bruce, and sure that included all of their time together fighting crime, but the smaller, quiet moments, like the snowball fights and the kiss in the snow were precious, beautiful things that were to be savored. A cold seemed like a small price to pay for a memory that had been so completely perfect.

John glared over at the other half of the bed, which was currently empty. Bruce had definitely crawled into it beside John the night before. He was sure of that much at least. John could clearly remember the absolutely delightful feeling of falling asleep in Bruce’s warm embrace.

He missed that warmth now. Despite the cold, John wanted nothing more in that moment than to roll over, wrap his arms around his partner and hold him close.

Bruce had things to do that day though; things that didn’t involve staying at home and taking care of a sick partner, including an important meeting at Wayne Enterprises. John didn’t know what the time was, but judging by the light that was already streaming in through the window, Bruce had probably already left to go to work.

John watched the snow falling gently to the ground for a few seconds, finding it still almost unbelievably beautiful, despite the fact that it was the cold that had led to his current illness, before groaning, flopping back down onto his back, rolling over and wrapping the blankets as tightly around himself as he could.

A day of being sick already sounded bad. A day of being sick without Bruce sounded even worse. He probably wouldn’t even be allowed to join Batman on patrol that night. John changed his mind. He hated the snow.

John had only been laying there in his blanket cocoon and feeling sorry for himself for a few minutes when he heard a muffled voice coming from somewhere out in the hallway. It only took a second for him to recognize the voice as belonging to Bruce, although John couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

John  _was_ able to work out that Bruce was probably talking to someone on the phone, and the fact that his voice was steadily growing louder and clearer probably meant that he was approaching their bedroom.

“Thanks Regina,” John caught Bruce saying. “I owe you one. I really do.”

When Bruce entered the room John noticed that he was fully dressed, although to John’s surprise he was wearing warm, loose-fitting clothes that were not at all suitable for a day of board meetings and decision-making at Wayne Enterprises.

As John watched Bruce said a quick farewell to the woman on the other end of the phone call, before slipping the phone in his jeans pocket and turning to face John with a soft smile on his face.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked as he moved to sit right beside John on the side of the bed.

“Like my head’s stuffed full of cotton wool,” John replied.

John winced as he finished speaking, partially at the sound of his own voice, which had been warped and muffled strangely by the cold, and partially because his throat felt as though someone had just stabbed it.

“Your throat’s sore?” Bruce said, leaning in a little closer.

“You could tell that just from me speaking?” John asked, wincing again, regretting even those few words.

“You kept coughing during the night,” Bruce said. “You don’t remember? You actually woke up a couple of times and spoke to me. Well, for a given value of ‘speech’.”

John frowned. Now that he thought about it he could remember a couple of moments; someone pressing their hand to his forehead; a weight on the other side of the bed disappearing, only to return a few seconds later with a much needed tissue.

John rolled over a little bit, and spotted the box of tissues that Bruce had fetched for him the night before.

“I’m sorry Bruce,” he said as soon as he realized how much he must have disturbed his partner’s sleep.

“It’s all right,” Bruce said, moving over to the bed and placing a hand on John’s shoulder. He gave it a gentle squeeze, before leaning down and placing a kiss on John’s forehead. “I don’t mind taking care of you.”

John thought back on what he had heard when Bruce had entered the room. It didn’t sound or look as though he was going anywhere, but John knew that Bruce had at least one important meeting that day.

John was seized by a sudden burst of energy, and leaned over the side of the bed in an attempt to find his phone.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, hovering over John. “What is it?”

John grabbed his phone, checked the time and, to his own embarrassment, let out a cry of alarm that emerged more as a squeak thanks to his sore throat.

“It’s already ten thirty!” he said, thrusting the phone into Bruce’s face so that he could see it for himself. What would have usually been a shout emerged as little more than a rasp. “You’ve got that important meeting today, remember?”

Bruce just smiled softly at John again and placed a hand on each of John’s shoulders, gently pressing him back into the bed.

“No I don’t,” Bruce said, once John had given in and was lying back down in bed once more.

“What, but you…?”

Bruce leaned down and pressed a kiss to John’s forehead.

“Regina’s going to attend the meeting in my place,” Bruce said. “I just finished talking to her.”

“But you said it was  _important_ ,” John murmured. “You’ve been worrying about it for days.”

“You’re  _more important_ ,” Bruce said. “To me at least. Besides, I made sure Regina knows all of the facts, and she knows what I expect from her and what’s best for Wayne Enterprises. I’m sure she’s more than capable of taking care of it.”

“But you’re giving up being there for me?” John asked, hardly able to believe it.

He knew that he was staring up at Bruce like an idiot. It happened more often than he would have liked, Bruce somehow being able to surprise John more than any other person on earth could. John could still hardly believe that someone as incredible and famous and  _important_  and  _good_ as Bruce Wayne would be willing to sacrifice anything at all for him.

“Of course I am,” Bruce said, leaning down to press another kiss to John’s brow. “Now lie back down, get some rest and please stop speaking. I can hear how much your throat must be hurting.”

John wanted to say ‘thank you’, wanted to tell Bruce how much he loved him and how lucky he felt to have Bruce, but saying anything at all after Bruce had basically just told him to shut up (of course in the nicest, sweetest way Bruce possibly could have) seemed a little rude.

Instead he just nodded, and hoped that Bruce could see how much John loved him when he looked up and smiled at the other man.

“Now, did you want me to get you a hot drink or something else to soothe that throat?” Bruce asked. “I can make you coffee, or Alfred’s got a few herbal teas stashed away that are supposed to be good for this sort of thing.”

John paused, unsure of how he was supposed to answer without speaking. Bruce stared at him for a moment, before he seemed to notice what was wrong, and let out a low chuckle.

“Hot chocolate?” Bruce asked. He had guessed right on the first go, and John nodded enthusiastically.

Bruce tucked the blanket up around John’s shoulders, stopping any cold drafts from sneaking into what was otherwise an extremely warm and comfortable fortress.

“Anything else?” Bruce asked. “Are you hungry?”

John shrugged. He knew that he should have been hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since before they had gone on patrol the night before.

Bruce smiled softly at him, before leaning down and pressing another kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll see what I can find,” he said. “Although you know, if you want anything, and I mean anything at all, then I’ll get it for you, all right?”

John looked out the window, to where the snow was still falling lightly. He didn’t want Bruce to go out in it and get cold as well. The last thing they or Gotham needed was for the both of them to be out at the same time, and John wasn’t sure he would be as good a nurse as Bruce was already proving he could be.

“I’m fine,” he said, deciding it was worth risking his voice for something as important as making sure that Bruce stayed safe and warm.

“Okay,” Bruce said, stroking a lock of hair back from John’s forehead, before getting back to his feet. “I’ll be back soon, okay love?”

John nodded and snuggled down deeper beneath the blankets. It wasn’t the first time that Bruce had called him ‘love’ but it was still a pretty rare word, and it never failed to make John feel warm and fuzzy, as though his heart was expanding to twice its usual size. Heck, it was enough to make him feel a little better all on its own. 

* * *

Bruce returned to John’s room half an hour later, carrying a bowl of something warm and a large mug that John soon discovered contained hot chocolate. He could barely smell either of them, but the few whiffs that he managed to get through his blocked nose made his stomach complain loudly. Apparently he  _had_  been hungry after all.

“You’re in luck,” Bruce said as he placed the bowl and cup on the bedside table next to John. “Alfred made his famous chicken soup. He used to make it for me whenever I was sick as a child, and I don’t know half of what he puts into it, but I swear this stuff works miracles.”

Bruce gestured for John to sit up, before taking a seat beside him on the bed. Bruce grabbed the bowl of soup again, which was honestly smelling more and more delicious with every second that passed, and John froze as he realized that Bruce actually intended to feed it to him.

“You… you don’t have to do that,” John said, keeping his eyes low. The thought of someone, even his trusted partner spoon-feeding him while he was sick was a little embarrassing, but he  _was_  feeling very faint, and the thought that Bruce cared about him enough to actually do something like that was always enough to make John’s heart glow, and even though his throat and nose were all stuffed up and his body felt awful, the attention that Bruce was giving to him was really helping him to feel, if not better, then happy enough that the rest of it didn’t really matter.

“Would you rather I didn’t?” Bruce asked. “I can just leave it here for you if you want.”

“No, it’s… it’s not that,” John said. “It’s just… you’re going through a lot of trouble for me already Bruce and well…”

John always worried that he took up too much of Bruce’s time and attention. Bruce had far more important things to worry about than him after all, and sometimes it felt like all that he ever managed to do was make life more difficult for Bruce. Part of him was still waiting for it; even after everything they had been through; even now that they were working together and living together; for that inevitable moment when Bruce finally pulled the rug out from under him and let John know that he wasn’t wanted. It hadn’t come yet though, and to John’s eternal surprise, it wasn’t going to come that day either.

Bruce smiled and leaned forward to brush John’s hair back from his face, his touch and his smile as gentle as it always was with John.

“I really don’t mind doing this John,” he said. “I mean it. I like taking care of you, because I love you.”

John couldn’t blush, but he had a feeling that this was what other people must feel like when they did; he was too warm, and he loved Bruce just a little too much in that moment for it to be contained.

“I love you too,” John whispered.

“So, did you want me to help you or not?” Bruce asked, sounding so kind and patient that John couldn’t help but smile, even though his throat still felt like someone had shoved a knife right through it.

“Sure,” John said. 

* * *

With Bruce’s help, John ate almost all of the soup, and immediately drank all of the hot chocolate. The soup was every bit as good as Bruce had advertised, but even with Bruce’s help the effort of eating it left John feeling lethargic.

Bruce stayed in the room after John had finished, and the two of them talked, or rather, Bruce talked and John did his best to communicate with gestures and as few words as possible.

That only lasted for a short while before John slid back down beneath the covers. John expected Bruce to leave the room then, figuring that Bruce wouldn’t want to stay with John when John was probably about to fall asleep, but Bruce proved him wrong. He kicked off his shoes, swung his legs up onto the bed beside John, and before long Bruce had made his way into John’s blanket fortress and had flung one arm over John’s torso in a loose embrace.

It was too much. While John had been able to push his guilt aside for long enough for Bruce to be able to help him and feed him, Bruce could not seriously be planning on snuggling with him. No matter how much that sounded like the best thing in the world to John at that moment, it couldn’t happen. No way.

He tried to scramble away from Bruce, but didn’t get very far.

“What are you doing Bruce!?” he yelled, or at least tried to yell. In the end his voice emerged as little more than a high pitched wheeze.

Bruce’s arms immediately retreated, and he lay there, looking at John with obvious confusion written all over his face.

“Cuddling?” he replied.

“You can’t,” John groaned. Damn it. Why did Bruce have to make everything so difficult?

“Why not?” Bruce asked.

“Because you’ll get sick,” John protested, “and I don’t want to be the guy that made Batman sick.”

To John’s annoyance Bruce just let out a soft chuckle in response to that.

“So just checking,” he said. “Is that your  _only_  objection to me cuddling you?”

John nodded. He hated it though; hated that Bruce was making him be the one to point out how stupid this was.

“Don’t worry,” Bruce said as his arms reached out for John once more. “If I was going to catch your cold then I would have already. You’re probably not even contagious anymore.”

“Really?” John sniffled. 

“Really,” Bruce said. “I’m not going to get sick.”

When Bruce’s arms next reached out to hold John, John grabbed hold of them and wrapped them tightly around his own waist.

“Then stay?” he asked Bruce, not wanting to give up this moment now that he had allowed himself to have it.

“Of course,” Bruce said, before shuffling closer and pressing his forehead to John’s shoulder. 

John pressed back against Bruce and smiled.

The two of them lay there together for a long time, staring out the window and watching the snowflakes gently fall, Bruce’s arms wrapped tightly around John and holding him close, and while John’s throat was still sore, and his nose was still blocked, John decided that, just like the day before, a moment as perfect as this was definitely worth the discomfort. No matter how many perfect moments with Bruce there were, he wouldn’t have traded any of them for the whole world.


End file.
